


Not-So Shotgun

by Shakespeares_Girl



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, M/M, Weddings, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakespeares_Girl/pseuds/Shakespeares_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is really not sure why they're getting married.  Spencer, however, has it all figured out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not-So Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> I may have played a little fast and loose with historical social norms so that two men could get married in the old west. Or, if you prefer, this is set in a post-apocalyptic world where society has degraded back into a pseudo steampunk culture? In any case, there is westward travel and I always saw it as set in the past. ALSO. I fully intend for there to be more of this. Eventually.
> 
> Oh. And this is kind of based off of some major giggling and plotting by myself and my beta, while one of us (me) was watching an old Don Knotts movie.

“Wait a minute!” Brendon shouts to be heard over the sound of the aging woman in the corner singing “O Promise Me.” “Wait a minute!”

“What?” the minister and Spencer Smith demand, raising eyebrows at Brendon.

“Why are we getting married?” Brendon asks Spencer. “I don't understand.”

“Because I love you, obviously,” Spencer tells him, seriously. He turns to the minister. “If you don't mind, Reverend, we have to catch the wagon train leaving in half an hour.”

“Oh, of course,” the minister nods. “Do you have a ring?”

“Of course,” Spencer nods, producing a set of rings from one of his suit pockets.

Brendon frowns at him, then at the minister. “But we just met last night! Or, well, we met two days ago when I ran into you in the dry goods store and knocked over the display of tinned biscuits, but we only really started talking to each other last night and no one said anything about marriage, or about a wagon train! Where are we even heading?”

“California, Brendon,” Spencer sighs. “I explained all this last night.”

“I—you did? No you didn't!” Brendon stamps his foot. “No one said anything about California!”

“Well, you were a little tipsy at the time,” Spencer allows.

“A little tipsy?” Brendon sputters.

“Well, you were drunk,” Spencer admits. “And you passed out just after I finished explaining.”

Brendon can't even form words to answer that, just makes ridiculous noises and gestures significantly at the door, the minister, Spencer, and the woman singing in the corner.

“Well, we don't have to get married, I suppose,” Spencer says dubiously. “But I thought you'd prefer this to being my mistress. Of course, if you really prefer, we can forgo the marriage and live together without--”

“No! I mean—wait! Do you even want to marry me?” Brendon asks, and the lady in the corner falls silent.

Spencer turns and looks fully at Brendon for the first time since they entered the parsonage and takes his hands. “Brendon,” he says, voice soft, eyes a little misty, “I can honestly say there is no one I'd rather marry.” Brendon opens his mouth to point out that maybe there's someone else Brendon wants to marry, but Spencer doesn't know him well enough to know if there is or isn't yet, but Spencer keeps talking. “You're not what I expected, I can't lie about that,” he admits. “But you're funny and cheerful and sweet and I like you. So please? Come with me to California?”

“I--” Brendon starts, then stops.

“Marry me, Brendon Urie,” Spencer asks, going down on one knee.

“Yes,” Brendon nods. “I will.”

“You won't regret it,” Spencer promises. He stands, taking Brendon's hand, and turns to the minister again. “If you don't mind? We're really going to need to hurry if you don't start right now.”

The woman in the corner has taken up her singing again, although she seems more than a little misty-eyed and her voice wavers more than ever. The reverend looks from the couple to the woman, then back. “I suppose,” he agrees. “But it's highly irregular, conducting the service during the song . . .”


End file.
